Descrying
by thecumbercollective1898
Summary: When emotions catch up to Sherlock, how will he and everyone around him react?


Peering out at the pink horizon with clasped hands, Irene let her mind wander, her blue eyes looking distant yet full. It had been four years since she had been to London, and three years since she had heard a mention of the great Sherlock Holmes; oh yes, he is back, alive and well. She assumed that even though she was no longer protected by the photographs, that trouble wouldn't occur –and even if it did, Sherlock would most likely be there to save her… again– yet she still decided to wait a year to bring her presence back to the UK and to Sherlock's doorstep, just in case.

"Miss Adler?" a feminine voice asked, and Irene turned to face a rather tall woman whom merely wore a see-through top only buttoned up half way and pink lace underwear. Irene nodded at the woman; the third girl she had been with this week.

"We have arrived at Dover" she affirmed with a playful grin. As if on cue, Irene's phone buzzed and she retrieved it from her undergarment beneath her blouse,

**Not possible –MH**

Irene smirked and walked into the room past the girl whose name she couldn't remember. Picking up her suitcase, she turned once to give the woman a small, white piece of paper with random numbers squiggled across it and she strut out of the room with 6 words left lingering in the air,

"This is going to be fun"

Sherlock had his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he thought about his recent case; two bodies found on the shore; obviously brother and sister; they have both been through abuse possibly from their parents though most of it is most likely verbal as the sister had an ulcer, though they both bare a few slightly faded bruises– possible runaways? However, this is no attempt at suicide as it is impossible to drown one self, even if one did it to the other, there is no way the other would have died, and there couldn't have been three of them as they are only children and wouldn't have the guts to kill one another –unless they are psychopaths, but in that case they would have killed their parents long ago–, plus the third would be left out. This is indeed murder, but–

A small clink distracted Sherlock's thoughts and he snapped back to reality to see John setting down a cuppa on a small plate in front of him.

"Th-Thanks" he said, gathering his thoughts and dropping his hands onto his lap.

"It's been two days, Sherlock" John pointed out, taking a seat beside him near the cluttered table topped with a variety of plastic containers –god knows what's in them–, documents and microscopes.

"Since?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly, staring at the steaming cup of tea.

"Since you've slept, Sherlock!" John said, raising his voice, "This can't be healthy, you out of all people should know that!" he lectured him. But instead of Sherlock rolling his eyes or giving him a scowl as John thought he would receive, Sherlock turned in his chair and merely nodded.

"So… you're going to sleep then?" John asked, surprised at the consulting detectives response. Sherlock sighed,

"Yes, John, I'm going to sleep; don't be too pleased with yourself, I was thinking about doing that anyway" he said nonchalantly. John snorted,

"Sure you were." he said, "But I'm going back home tonight, so don't expect me for dinner" he concluded. Sherlock's stomach dropped at the word 'home', John had always referred to 221B as his home and this is the first time in a year that he had mentioned his house with Mary as a _home_. Grabbing the cuppa and mumbling a 'see you later' Sherlock walked swiftly out of the room to hide his jealousy.

John narrowed his eyebrows at Sherlock's odd behaviour but disregarded it and got up to leave when he heard a small buzzing sound; looking around the room, he found a lit up phone atop what looked like a jar of blood; looking back, he saw that Sherlock wasn't anywhere within earshot so he grabbed the phone and read the message across the screen,

**How did you manage it? –MH **

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked and John slightly jumped at his sudden presence from behind him.

"I-I don't think so, I think Mycroft is just wondering how you solved that new case… You didn't tell me that you solved it?" John questioned him. Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows and snatched the phone from John's hands to read the text,

"I didn't…" he mumbled after a moment to nobody in particular.

Mycroft rubbed his temples angrily, as if he would rub the information of Irene Adler's revival out of his mind. Too many resurrections seemed to be taking place lately and Mycroft was having a hard time telling who was and wasn't dead– a man could go mad just thinking about it. Suddenly his phone chimed and he grabbed onto it, reading the message hastily while being taken aback that somebody had _actually_ messaged him back for once,

**What are you talking about? –SH**

Mycroft frowned for a moment but then a grin creeped into its place; Mycroft loved it when he knew something his younger brother hadn't. He set his phone down and leaped up to walk across the room to where some of his computers were showing what the security cameras were spying on; he had one specially put in front of 221B so that he could check on his brother and John for their safety– Sherlock thought it was just outright creepy and was also the reason John wouldn't give him his address to his new home with Mary so that he had to figure it out himself. He saw the two men making their way toward the street while John waved for a cab as Sherlock was checking his phone periodically. In the background he noticed a slender figure walk up to their flat door and pull out a bobby pin which made the person's hair fall around her shoulders before picking at the lock, and within seconds she was hidden behind the door as it shut close behind her. Mycroft laughed to himself as he watched the two oblivious men climb into the back seat of a cab. How Irene had gotten from Dover to London so quickly is a mystery.

Walking back over to the chair where he had set his phone on one of the arm rests he picked it up and casually typed a message back to the consulting detective,

**Check your bed –MH**

Irene observed the flat and had made a few assumptions; for one, John was no longer living here as his room was filled with boxes and abandoned textbooks with only a small pathway to his bed which probably meant that he only stayed on rare occasions. Sherlock wasn't sleeping as much or normally as he had before his 'death', his bed was made –probably from his landlady– and looked like it hadn't been touched for days, or rather, nights. The equipment on and around his only table in his small kitchen was cluttered, but didn't look to have any pattern or reason for being in certain places– Sherlock's getting slow, even imbecile for his usual manner; then again, that could have easily been deducted from his lack of recognition when she basically walked toward him.

Checking her watch, Irene noticed that she had been in the flat for 15 minutes and knew that Sherlock would be home soon once he had received a text from Mycroft; after all, he is watching every move anyone will ever make with his security cameras; she knows because she was given a list of all the areas he monitors from a certain useful resource. Walking swiftly to Sherlock's bedroom and removing her clothing, she let herself be swallowed by the feather blanket that instantly warmed her suddenly bare body. The sound of a door opening and more than one set of footsteps climbing up the stairs from the ground floor was her cue to shut her eyes and pretend to be drifted into a slumber.

"You're joking" John gasped in denial as he recognized the figure sleeping soundlessly in Sherlock's bed. Sherlock however did not look alarmed, but rather like he had forgotten something important.

"I know you're awake Miss Adler, now would you please put your clothes back on and come out for tea" Sherlock said casually, as if he had actually been expecting Irene, and walked toward the kitchen.

"You have got to be joking " John started but then seemed to come to a realization, "–Did you know that she was alive? Sherlock? Are you listening to me?" John asked, on Sherlock's heels as he lifted the kettle into the sink.

John had finally admitted to Sherlock after he had come back from his grave that Irene Adler was in fact dead and that he had lied to him; Sherlock seemed unusually unaffected by the information, and John was starting to understand why now.

"Did you know about this?" John asked, but Sherlock dismissed his question and lifted the handle of the tap so that water started to flow into the kettle, "Sherlock?" John asked again, but was left without a response. Suddenly a burst of rage flowed through John like drugs traveling quickly through an addict's vein; he slammed a hand down on the handle of the tap which abruptly stopped the water flow and raised it up to Sherlock's face. John gripped Sherlock's cheeks, four fingers on one side and his thumb on the other as he dragged his face lower to his own height with strength he hadn't known that he obtained,

"Did you know?" John asked, stopping for a moment between each word. Sherlock's eyes had widened at John's movements but just as he opened his mouth someone else spoke,

"Sherohn…?" Irene said to herself, leaning against the wall that divided the kitchen from the living room, fully clothed, "No, no… John… Johnlock? Yes, that sounds better"

"What are you talking about?" John asked in a harsher tone than he had meant to come out. A small smile lingered on her lips,

"It's your names combined. I like it. I like you two together." John suddenly dropped his hand from Sherlock's face and Sherlock moved his position to straighten himself, "Together? What, do you mean, like, together _together_? I have a wife you know–" John started, but Sherlock cut him off by clearing his throat and turning to close the lid of the kettle.

"You were supposed to be dead" John said before he could stop himself. Irene's smile turned from amused to casual,

"It's always nice to see you too, Johnny" John grimaced, "Don't call me that" he said, thinking of it as a teenage dirtbag sort of name. Irene walked across the kitchen and sat herself down at the untidy table as Sherlock moved the kettle onto the heated stove,

"Have you figured it out yet?" Irene asked.

"Why you're here or my case?" Sherlock asked, speaking for the first time in Irene's proper company.

"Your case of course; you'll never find out why I'm here" Irene stated and John noticed one side of Sherlock's lips curl up into a small grin,

"Murder" he said simply and Irene's eyes twinkled.

"Well, that's obvious, but the motive on the other hand" she said, waiting for Sherlock to finish her sentence as he grabbed three tea cups from a cupboard. John finally sat down in a chair across from Irene where he had sat not too long ago. _So much for bribing Sherlock to sleep _John thought to himself.

"No, I haven't figured that out yet" Sherlock admitted and the kettle abruptly started to squeal for a moment before Sherlock lifted it off of the stove's hot rings.

"Can someone _please _explain to me how you are alive?" John asked in a calmer tone, interrupting the two's conversation. Sherlock sighed as he set two cuppas down in front of Irene and John while holding his own as he leaned against the counter,

"The murderer thinks he's _helping _his victims by killing them" Sherlock said, in sudden realization as he ignored John's question. Irene smiled, "Took you long enough" she commented. John suddenly stood from his position and pushed past Sherlock as he made his way toward the stairs.

"John?" Sherlock asked, turning to follow him down the stairs. John was about to open the door of 221B when Sherlock grabbed his shoulder to stop him,

"I can explain, John, but later, okay?" he said hastily. John turned slightly to face him, and a look of betrayal that he had worn the night that he had revealed himself to John glistened in his eyes.

"Call me when you're done keeping secrets" John said in a groggy tone of voice, shrugging Sherlock's hand off of him as he opened the door and slammed it behind him in Sherlock's face. Sherlock cursed under his breath and merely stood in place for a moment before picking himself up and making his way back into the kitchen; but when he got there, Irene was nowhere in sight. Lifting a hand to rake through his curls he shut his eyes hard and turned in his spot to walk toward his bedroom when a sudden presence of warmth rushed over his slender body as two arms were slung around his neck and a pair of lips were pushed against his own.

John grabbed his key from his front pocket and unlocked the knob of his front door as thoughts scrambled throughout his mind, feeling angry that he actually believed it when Sherlock had whispered _'No more secrets' _in his ear, the night that he had been resurrected.

"John?" asked a familiar, graceful articulation. Without replying, John shut the door behind him and rushed up to Mary, grabbing her by the waist and moving his face toward her own as any thought of Sherlock had been cleared from his mind.

_John _had been the first thought to enter Sherlock's mind when he had been kissed, but as he opened his eyes, he was shown Irene's face and body that had been clutched to his own,

"Not this time, Irene" he said, pushing her away gently. Irene, however, thrust Sherlock around and against the nearest wall, causing him to grunt (which only turned her on even more) as she moved her lips down to his neck and started to suck on his fragile skin.

"Irene" he said in a breath, fighting to gain his composure.

"Forget about him, Sherlock; just for a night" Irene said between kisses down his neck as her fingers explored Sherlock's body. Sherlock held her away from him so that he could see her face,

"What?" he asked dumbfounded. Irene was expressionless as she replied, "I know you're in love with John, there's no need to hide it around me" Sherlock's mouth was slack as he stared at her, thinking about the man whom had changed his life; the man whom he had failed on several occasions. He thought about before his fake death, and how close they had become, and how he had kept vigil over him when he had been 'dead', and about the night when had held the sobbing man in his arms when he had revealed himself. Then he thought about Mary, and how he had moved on without him; replaced him.

Suddenly he was no longer against the wall and he hadn't remembered gaining the upper hand against Irene as he kissed her, removing her clothes with hands he didn't seem to have control over. The only movement he recognized was the small whispers he let flow out of his mouth, "John".


End file.
